


Sharing

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Series: Learning [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Incest, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by Orangeblossom BrambleburrSequel to Learning. Pippin thinks Sam has a lot to learn; so does Frodo.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Merry Brandybuck/Sam Gamgee/Pippin Took, Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Series: Learning [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916137
Kudos: 5
Collections: Least Expected





	Sharing

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine. Nope. Wish they were.  
> Feedback: Pretty please, with naked hobbits on top??  
> Story Notes: : Sequel to Learning, which you can find at http://www.femgeeks.net/tolkien/archive/4/learning.html if you haven't read it. This story is dedicated to Petra, who said my writing had a spark and helped me rediscover it.

Pippin was having a bad few minutes of it. He wasn't quite sure what was troubling him on this of all mornings when he'd awakened in Merry's arms, with Frodo warm against him. They'd risen early in case Fatty might wake and wander the smial, unlikely as it might be--even sober Fatty preferred to sleep late.

At first he wondered if it was regret, but he easily discarded that thought; his only regret was that he hadn't discovered what Merry was up to long ago. Nor was it shame; though he didn't relish the idea of the entire Shire talking over his...their...doings, he didn't feel uncomfortable--in fact, he felt so comfortable that he hadn't wanted to get up at all, had wanted to explore this wondrous new world again already.

 _Then what is it?_ he asked himself. They'd gone into the bathing chambers, Frodo hurrying so that he could see about breakfast. The others took their time; Pippin sat unusually quiet in the tub as Merry washed his hair.

"Why so glum, Pip?" he asked, concerned. "You aren't sorry, are you?"

Pippin kissed his cousin, not caring if Fatty walked in at that moment or not. "Oh no, nothing like that," he said with a lazy smile. "Just have a feeling like something's wrong...not with what we did, but--" he shrugged. "Anyway, don't worry over it, dearest of Merrys."

Merry hugged him, letting his hands move tantalizingly over Pippin's wet skin. "All right then, Pip, if you're sure."

Pippin scowled. "I do wish you and Frodo would stop asking if I'm sure. I may not be of age yet but I do know my own mind, and I stick to a thing once I decide!"

Merry laughed heartily. "Ah Pippin. I just...well, I just wanted you to be happy, and to be all right with what was happening. Happened. Because..." he sobered, catching his lip between his teeth for a moment before he continued, "Well, because I love you."

"You love me?" Pippin echoed, eyes wide, worries for the moment forgotten. "That is, you _really_ love me?"

"How could I not?" Merry asked tenderly, stroking Pippin's wet, curly hair.

"Oh, Merry!" Pippin said, amazed, "I love you too, I _really_ love you too!" He moved as if to kiss his cousin but Merry pulled back with a frown and before Pippin could ask what was wrong he knew; Fatty was walking into the room, groaning.

"Bloody ale," he muttered, rubbing his head. "Must you two be so ruddy loud?"

Pippin grinned. "Well, welcome back Mr. Bolger. Did you have a nice sleep?"

Fatty moaned but said nothing.

"Frodo's getting something ready, if you're hungry."

Now Fatty looked ill. "No. Please, No. I'm just going to get some cold water on my face and then take my poor old bones home."

Pippin laughed, the sound causing Fatty to wince painfully. "Well, _I_ for one am not going to turn up my nose at breakfast!" He leaped from the tub, drying as quickly as he was able. Merry followed suit and shortly they were dressed and ready.

Two voices greeted them as they came into the kitchen and at once Pippin's discomfort returned. Sam was there helping Frodo make breakfast; the two were sitting opposite each other peeling apples, each trying to make the longest, thinnest piece of unbroken skin. With a whoop Sam leaped up clutching a strip nearly as tall as he was.

"Reckon I win with that one, eh Mr. Frodo?" he asked, brown eyes twinkling.

Frodo scowled and tossed down his apple. "My knife is dull, it's the only explanation," he sighed disgustedly.

Sam shook his head. "Ah, 'tis a poor chef that blames the cooking-pot," he said.

Pippin sat down silently at the long wooden table, not really seeing; at once he understood his own discomfort.

Sam.

Sam _loved_ Frodo.

He'd known it, of course--Sam was cautious and discreet, but Pippin was shrewd and his own desire for Merry made him particularly sensitive to such things. With a sinking feeling in his stomach he looked at Sam, who was looking not back at him but at Frodo. _If he ever finds out it would break his heart_ he thought. He was not sorry for what had happened the night before, but suddenly he hurt for Sam--hurt that he himself had tasted the fruit that Sam hungered for.

His wide eyes skipped to Frodo, who laughed as he threw a bit of apple at Sam who tried to catch it in his mouth. Didn't he know? Couldn't he see it? He shook his head; Frodo may have been the oldest but suddenly Pippin was quite sure he wasn't the wisest. He stood, "I think I'm going to take a walk before breakfast, does anyone mind?"

"Here, I'll keep you company," Merry said at once. They slipped outside quickly; as soon as they'd gotten out of view Merry pressed Pippin against the wall, kissing him urgently as if he'd been forcing himself to wait. Though he was tempted to respond, Pippin pushed him back.

"What's wrong now?" Merry said, his voice a bit strained.

"I just want to talk a bit," Pippin said, not wanting to ask what was on his mind but unable to stop. "Merry, do you love Frodo the way you...the way you love me?"

Merry's eyes were wide. "No, not like that."

"Then why...?"

He looked a bit uncomfortable. "Well, it feels mighty good, you know, and...I don't know, so long as you trust a person and love them a little bit..." Merry shook his head. "Its no different from lasses, really, except there's no danger in it. And, well..." he scratched his head. "I wanted to know what I was doing, so if you ever..." Now he blushed deeply. "So I'd know what to do."

Pippin nodded slowly. "Then Frodo doesn't love you like you love me either?"

"I doubt it," Merry said, "We're friends, sure, and we're family too, but not beyond that, not like, well, not like I feel about you, Pip." He moved as if to kiss him again, but Pippin turned his head. "Now what's wrong?"

"Sam."

"What about Sam?"

"Merry, don't you see it?" Pippin gripped his cousin's hand. "Sam loves Frodo."

"Of course he does."

Pippin looked intently into his cousin's eyes. "No, I mean he _really_ loves him, the way I love you."

Merry smiled until the full meaning struck him. "Oh... _oh_ no," he said, "Oh, _no_..."

"It would break his heart. I know. For a moment when I saw you there with Frodo..."

"I'm sorry, Pip--"

"No," Pippin said, "Don't be sorry. If you hadn't brought me in, it would have hurt terribly. But being with you, and with Frodo..." his brow furrowed as if he was trying to lay words to his thoughts, "Well, it didn't matter what had come before."

Light was dawning on Merry's face. "Then I know what we should do."

"What?"

Merry looked adoringly at his cousin, "We ought to show Sam. Like, well, like last night. Only with him, then he'd have his chance, and he wouldn't feel so hurt like if he found out otherwise."

"Merry!" Pippin was shocked.

"What?"

"Four of us?"

A shrug. "The way I see it, if three is wrong, then four can't be worse, and I don't think three of us was wrong. So it follows that four of us can't be either. Besides, we're all friends, aren't we? Sam's been wonderful, the way he's looked after Frodo and kept us up on what was going on. And he's a splendid chap anyway, I don't see any reason not to. And if it works out," he looked deeply into Pippin's eyes, "then perhaps Frodo will wake up and see how much love there is. The way I woke up with you."

Pippin's reply was not in words, but Merry didn't seem to mind. They kissed and caressed each other, leaning against the wall in a tangle of arms and legs until Sam's voice warned them of his approach. A few moments later his curly head popped around the corner.

"Ah, there you are. Breakfast is ready," he looked at them with one brow raised, "and what mischief are you up to?"

Pippin stifled a laugh. "You'll see soon enough, Samwise."

* * *

The fire was burning low, and Sam was starting to wonder if he ought to head home. He was rather sleepy; Bagshot Row seemed terribly far away; perhaps Frodo would lend him a bed. Unbidden the thought of *Frodo's* bed came to mind and Sam blushed--no use thinking such things, it wasn't right. And even if it was, Frodo had never given him reason to think them. He stretched, eyeing Pippin and Merry. He was quite certain they were up to something; the two had been whispering and exchanging meaningful looks all evening.

He shook his head sleepily--those two were always into mischief. If he didn't know better...he shook his head again, drawing a hand over his eyes.

"You're looking tired, there, Sam," Frodo said gently.

"Oh, I'm all right, just been a bit of a long day, and yesterday as well."

"You know you're welcome to sleep here if you like."

"Yes, do stay," Pippin chimed in, exchanging another look with Merry.

Sam swallowed hard. "Thankee, Mr. Frodo. I'm right grateful, I'm none too partial to walking about now."

Frodo yawned. "I understand, I don't think I could walk that far myself. I'm going to bed." He stood.

"I'm going as well. Pip?" Merry stretched, casting a look at his cousin.

"No, I'll sit up with Sam a bit," Pippin replied, his face unreadable.

Frodo sighed fondly; those two were most certainly plotting something and after last night he had his suspicions what it might be. But he didn't mind, so long as Sam stayed safely ignorant. Sam was very dear to him; he didn't know if he wanted him to know about his master's...peculiarities.

Nervously Merry followed him down the hall. He hadn't wanted to be the one to propose their idea to Frodo, but Pippin had been quite stubborn and he couldn't really deny his cousin anything, not when used those huge gray-green eyes to their best advantage.

Pippin sat on one of the deep, comfortable couches, eating a biscuit laden with honey. He was smiling rather dreamily--the sticky-sweet honey had given him a wicked idea, which he filed away for future reference. "Sam," he said at length, breaking his own reverie, "Have you been courting any lasses?"

Sam blinked. "Well, you might say so. That is, I've been going about with Rosie Cotton since we were both young. I reckon we'll make a match of it someday--our families want it, you know. Her brother has gone about with my sister for some time as well. But does that really count as courting?" He paused thoughtfully, "If you're meaning it the way I think you are, then no, I haven't."

"You'll be of age next year."

"True."

"Do you want to marry?"

"Well now," Sam said, "I don't know. I'm mighty fond of Rosie. But I don't know as that I want to get married just yet. I--" he bit back whatever he'd about to say. "I just like working for Mr. Frodo and all, and if I was married I'd have other responsibilities," he finished lamely.

Pippin nodded, not at all sure how he was going to broach the subject. By day it had seemed simple, but now that he was here alone with Sam he wondered if his plan would work at all. Maybe he was wrong--maybe Sam's feelings for Frodo really weren't like his own for Merry. Downing the last of his ale to bolster his courage he said, "Sam, are you in love with Frodo?"

Sam choked, spluttering beer over his shirt. "What--what do you mean?" he asked, dabbing at the soaked fabric with his handkerchief.

"You know exactly what I mean or else you wouldn't have spit out your ale."

"I didn't spit," Sam said indignantly, though he'd turned a brilliant scarlet, "It was just such an odd question, you caught me off guard." This he said very fast, refusing to meet Pippin's eyes.

"Its not a bad thing, Sam."

"It is, making a fellow ruin his shirt."

"That's not what I meant." Sam frowned but his brown eyes looked frightened. Pippin crossed the room and put an arm around the nervous gardener. "Samwise, I know more than you think I do, and you ought to trust me." Deftly he began to unbutton Sam's shirt and in moments Pippin had it off and tossed aside, exposing a muscular chest lightly dusted with golden hair. "That beer soaked clear through," Pippin said, and before Sam realized what he was doing Pippin ducked his head, drawing his warm tongue over the drops of ale on Sam's skin.

Sam gasped, hands on Pippin's shoulders to push him away. "What in the Shire are you doing?" he asked, moving an arm protectively over his chest.

Pippin sighed--this wasn't going to be easy. "Something good--won't you trust me Sam?"

"I...I do trust you, Pippin. But it's odd, what you're doing. I don't think--"

"Did it feel bad?"

"Well, now, not exactly," Sam said slowly. "Leastaways not how you mean. It made my stomach feel mighty queer though."

"Good queer or bad?"

Sam frowned. "What is this all about, Pippin?"

Pippin groaned--he was too direct a Hobbit to be good at this sort of subtle manipulation. But then, Sam was fairly direct as well; perhaps that was the route to try.

"Sam, there's a lot about love I don't think you know. I'm no expert, but I'm learning. I think its time you learned, too--and I'm going to help teach you. Merry and Frodo and I are all going to teach you."

Silence. Sam had gone a deathly white.

"Have another ale, Sam."

Gratefully Sam accepted the tankard, downing it in a single gulp and refilling it before Pippin offered. He drank that too as if desperate.

"Sam?"

"Half a minute, would you Pippin?" He was breathing hard and the unusual pallor was rapidly replaced with a heated blush. He paced about the room like a caged animal before he finally spoke. "Mr. Frodo knows about this?"

"By now, surely."

Another long silence as Sam went back to his seat. "I don't know, Pippin, it don't seem right."

"Its not the first time, Sam."

A look of horror crossed Sam's face. "You mean he's...you've...and..."

"Its all right, really. There's no reason to be afraid." Pippin closed the space between them and drew his fingers through Sam's hair. "Come on. I know you've thought of such a thing. We're a lot alike, you and I--we both waited and wished for a long time-- and now we'll both have that wish granted."

Another gulp of beer, followed by a deep sigh, "All right, Pippin. I'm not so sure what's goin' on up here," he tapped his head, "but I can't say as I'm not curious."

Gently Pippin pulled him to his feet, embracing him for a long moment. Sam was shaking; Pippin kissed the warm, brown throat and stroked his back. "Come on. They're waiting for us."

* * *

"He'll never agree to it," Frodo said weakly.

"Pippin will convince him. Pippin could sell mushrooms to Farmer Maggot if he took it into his mind, you just watch. Its those eyes." Merry smiled, his love for Pippin showing in every feature.

Frodo shook his head--he wondered what it would be like to love someone that much, to be loved that much. "Sam's a bloody stubborn hobbit."

"True. But he'd never deny you anything," he cocked his head. "Don't you want this?"

"Yes. I do." He bit his lower lip and took Merry's hand. "I'm very fond of Sam, and he's grown into quite a handsome lad. I can't deny the thought is appealing. But he'd never think of me like that, I'm sure."

"You're a fool, Frodo Baggins."

Before Frodo could respond there was a knock at the round door to his room. Moments later it creaked open and a triumphant-looking Pippin entered, pulling a red-faced and shirtless Sam behind him.

 _How did he do it?_ Frodo thought, but smiled. "Sam," he said, the one word his only statement. Sam did not look up, his eyes were locked on the floor as if it wasn't the rosy tile he'd seen a thousand times before. It was an uncomfortable moment--Sam looked for all the world as if he was trapped in a nightmare, and Frodo felt the blood rush to his own cheeks. What must he think now? His stomach twisted in terror that Sam would think less of him because of this--he realized with shock that Sam was far dearer to him than he'd ever known.

The tension in the room had not spread to the other two; they were looking at each other in great pleasure. With a laugh Pippin had bounded onto Frodo's great bed landing neatly in Merry's arms as he pulled his own shirt off. Both Merry and Frodo wore nothing beneath the covers, and Pippin eagerly pressed against Merry's warm flesh. He kissed his cousin hungrily, then turned to nuzzle Frodo's shoulder. "Come on Sam, plenty of room left."

"What do I do?" Sam said, eyes still on the floor. He hadn't been entirely certain what Pippin was drawing him into; he'd allowed himself to imagine a kiss or two but seeing his master there with nothing covering him save a sheet... His own body's reaction was unquestionably in favor of what must lay ahead, but his mind was fevered and frightened. He glanced up for a moment and regretted it at once; all three of them were sitting expectantly in a row and watching him. He wanted to run, to escape their scrutiny but he couldn't bring himself to.

"Don't be afraid," Pippin's tone was tender as he crawled to the foot of the bed. He took Sam's wrist in his hand and pulled him around the footboard, then took Frodo's hand and wrapped it around Sam's. "Help him, Frodo," he said, occupying himself with the fastenings of his own trousers.

"I can't do this," Sam said suddenly, tears welling in his eyes. He twisted out of Frodo's grasp and turned, walking quickly from the bedroom.

Frodo shook his head and stood, taking his dressing gown from a hook. "Let me talk to him." Hurriedly he dressed and rushed from the room.

* * *

The smial was empty.

Frodo ran through each room, calling Sam's name. His heart was beating faster and faster, a sick feeling in his stomach--he'd hurt Sam, and he couldn't bear the thought of it. He paused for a moment, mind racing. *He'd be somewhere where he feels safe; he wouldn't have gone home in such a state, he'd be too upset* Frodo thought. At once he was running back through the rooms, bursting outside to the kitchen gardens.

And there he was. Frodo slowed his steps, not wanting to startle him.

He was in the middle of a round bed of red and gold flowers, sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees, his head pillowed on his crossed forearms. In the starlight Frodo could see that his bare shoulders were shaking with sobs, and a stab of guilt pierced him. He'd made Sam cry! Tears stung his own eyes, but he made no move-- although it was dark in the garden it was as if a brilliant light shone down on the little gardener, and Frodo had to restrain himself from shouting. He'd made Sam cry, when all he wanted in the world was to make Sam happy.

Because he loved Sam.

Love! The word barely seemed to encompass the feelings that were flooding him. Slowly he approached the hunched form; he sat down next to Sam and lay a caressing palm on the quaking shoulders. Sam stiffened but said nothing.

"Sam...I'm sorry Sam."

Silence.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean for this to happen. Please..."

Silence.

Frodo's voice shook, "Oh Sam, don't hate me, I couldn't live if I thought--"

"I don't hate you. I could never hate you." The words were muffled.

Relief washed over Frodo. "Look at me, Samwise." Reluctantly the curly head lifted; even in the dim light Frodo could see that his eyes were red and anguished. "Oh, Sam!" he cried, tears of guilt and shame flowing freely.

Sam made a distressed sound in his throat. "Don't cry, Mr. Frodo," he said helplessly, awkwardly putting his arms around his master.

"I can't help but cry, I've hurt you. Oh, drat that Brandybuck and Took, meddling in what oughtn't have been stirred up!"

Sam shuddered as if struck. "You didn't want me there, did you sir?" he said, softly and sadly.

Frodo's head came up; he took Sam's tearstained face between his hands. "No, Sam. I did want you there, very much. But I went about it wrong; I let them do what I should have done long ago. I was blind and stupid, I pray you can forgive me that."

"What you should have done," Sam echoed uncertainly.

"This," Frodo replied and kissed Sam's lips, tasting salt, ale and beyond that a sweetness he couldn't describe. It was different from the familiar, easy kisses he'd shared with Merry; this was magic, it was joy and laughter and aching and longing and home, all wrapped up in those warm, moist lips that were parting and responding for him. His arms moved around Sam's body, fingers tangling in his hair as Frodo pulled him closer, still closer as if he was determined to make their bodies one. Sam made some small noise against him and he broke the kiss, staring into the astonished brown eyes. He was still afraid but he swallowed it, making himself say what was in his heart. "I love you, Samwise Gamgee."

"Oh!" Sam cried out, his mouth falling open. His hands grew bold as he drew Frodo back to him, wanting to feel those lips again. He was undone; the careful rules he'd made for himself to keep his master from seeing his longing were broken and all that mattered was his lips, the taste of them, the sound of the words they had just uttered.

Frodo pulled back slightly, his hands still moving over Sam's back. "Sam?" he smiled, "Isn't there something you ought to say to me?" He sobered, "Or do you not feel the same?"

"No, no Mr. Frodo! I do feel the same! I love you, I do, I've loved you since the day I met you!" He choked on the words, the tears starting once more, joy in place of sorrow. "I love you!"

Frodo kissed him again, his fingers pressing against the back of Sam's neck as he reveled in the strength of Sam's arms. His lips traced over the rounded cheeks, then lower as he pressed the gardener's body down among the flowers. His own robe had come undone and he guided Sam's hands beneath it, sighing with pleasure as work-hardened hands moved over his chest.

Lower still the kisses moved until he'd reached the waistband of Sam's trousers. His own fingers shook as they unhooked the fastenings--he noticed that Sam was barely breathing and he looked up, concerned. "Sam?"

"Yes, Mr. Frodo?" His voice was deeper than usual.

"Is this all right?"

Sam drew a sharp breath and nodded. It was all the assurance Frodo needed; he carefully removed Sam's breeches and shed his own robe. He sat back on his heels for a moment, unable to resist admiring the body that now lay exposed before him. His work in the garden had called the muscles of his chest and arms into strong definition; below them the soft roundness of his belly rose in gentle contrast; Frodo sighed, his fingers trailing over skin that in the dim light looked silver-blue. He wondered for a moment how he could have lived for so long in such close contact and never have noticed Sam's form before. He was strength and softness personified; Frodo could have wept for the beauty, the perfection.

Once more his lips pressed against the warm flesh of Sam's stomach, resuming their ever-lowering quest. Sam's body was tense; his hand moved instinctively into Frodo's hair, fingers gently following the curve of his scalp. Carefully he bowed his head and placed a tentative kiss on the gentle curve where belly met thigh; when Sam did not protest he nuzzled his face there. He could feel Sam's heat burning against his cheek and felt dizzy with his own desire. As nervous as if he'd never done such a thing before he took Sam into his mouth, sighing in wonder at the silken skin against his tongue, at the salty-sweet taste, at the shocked gasp that tore from Sam's throat. He pulled Sam in more deeply, almost losing himself in the pleasure until Sam made a sound that drew his attention. He raised his head. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No!" Sam gasped, then reddened at his own boldness. "That is to say...well...no, I don't. But I want..." he sighed and shook his head. "I ought to..." again he paused, as if he knew what he wanted to say but feared to put it in words.

"What do you want, Sam?" Frodo asked, sliding up Sam's body until they were eye to eye.

Sam's brown eyes were pleading. "You. I want to...what you're doing...I..." he looked away. "I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo."

"Whatever for?"

"Well, it's not my place..."

Frodo kissed him deeply. "Never say that to me, never say your place isn't in my arms."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Good. Because I couldn't bear it without you. I love you."

Sam sobbed softly and wrapped his arms around his master. "I love you too, Mr. Frodo."

"And I think I know what you want now," he kissed Sam lightly on the tip of his nose and smiled before he shifted, rotating smoothly until his head rested in Sam's lap, his own feet stretching past the young gardener. "Is this something like?"

Sam's eyes had gone so wide they threatened to consume his round face, but he nodded. Frodo positioned his mouth over Sam's warmth again, moving slowly so the younger hobbit could adjust to the sensation. After several moments he began to move his head, drawing his tongue slowly over the tight flesh. Sam moaned, the sound almost as enthralling to Frodo as the act that had caused it.

To his surprise, he felt tentative lips close around him and he couldn't help but cry out against Sam's body. The caresses were shy but eager, his tongue moving in awkward but delightful circles. Frodo gasped; the thought of it was almost as good as the feel of it; he was so close just from the taste of Sam. His hands moved to Sam's hips to draw him close enough that his forehead pressed into Sam's thighs with every stroke. Tightness was growing in his stomach, at the back of his throat.

Sam groaned around Frodo, a low and aching sound as he released himself into Frodo's mouth, back arching like a bow. The tightness in his belly suddenly seemed to burst and he let the pleasure overtake him in waves, body moving eagerly against Sam's heated lips, wishing the incredible, throbbing feeling would last forever.

His body had barely calmed as he righted himself, Sam's face inches from his own. He wrapped his arms around the gardener and nuzzled his cheek. "I love you. I love you," he whispered, over and over, once for every soft exhalation. "I love you."

Sam's curly head was nodding as if in agreement, his own breathing still slightly labored. He clung to Frodo as if he were drowning, kissing his fair cheeks and murmuring almost inaudible sweet words. Finally he pulled back; he seemed to have aged, matured there among the flowers and starlight. His brown eyes shone almost black in the night and his lips were curved in a smile of unashamed adoration. He shivered faintly. "We ought to go inside," he said finally, drawing his thumb along Frodo's jawline. "Can't have you catchin' cold out here, now, and I reckon you don't want the Gaffer coming by and finding us in the altogether."

Frodo laughed, "It would be a bit hard to explain. And I don't fancy sleeping on the ground tonight. Let's go back inside. Will you stay with me?"

"Just try and stop me, sir."

It was as close to defiant as Sam had ever been with his master and Frodo laughed with surprise as Sam draped the robe about his shoulders. He'd pulled on his own trousers, though he did not bother to fasten them, only held them about his waist with one hand. Sam took his hand and led him back into the smial; the gesture amused Frodo, who had always before been the leader.

They paused before the door to Frodo's room, Frodo suddenly collapsing in a fit of laughter against the wall.

"What's so funny?"

"We left that Brandybuck and Took in there, think they'll mind if we come in?"

A shrug. "Its your room, Mr. Frodo," he grinned, "and it'd serve 'em right if they're up to no good."

Frodo turned the knob, easing the door open so he could peek inside. The room was dark and silent, the fire having burned to ash. The bedcovers were badly rumpled but there was no movement save the steady breathing of two forms curled so tightly together that at a glance he couldn't tell which was Pippin and which was Merry. The laughter drained from Frodo's body leaving behind a warm sense of contentment. "Should we join them or go to one of the guest rooms?"

"You shouldn't ought to sleep in a guest room in your own house," Sam said, his chin sticking out stubbornly as if he was considering bodily moving the two sleeping hobbits.

"Well, my bed's plenty big enough," he decided aloud, shedding his robe. He climbed under the covers, scooting over until he could feel the warmth radiating from Merry's body. He looked expectantly at Sam, his hand resting on the empty sheets beside him. "Are you coming?"

Sam stood there a long moment, as if he were engraving the image of a loving Frodo inviting him to bed in his memory. Finally he stepped out of his breeches and crawled in next to Frodo, folding the slim hobbit in his strong embrace. "I love you, Mr. Frodo."

"I love you too, Sam. Good night."

"Good night."


End file.
